two degrees.
it is dropping
and snow slopes up the banks,
shore up to the house,
a blanket, a frozen wave.
it is ignorant to consider
your own wisdom but wise
to admit the unknown dark,
the naught of the future –
and yet i want to know, i beg
to hear the forecast from your lips,
raining, with a chance of hailing
a cab to the nearest airport.
sunny, no clouds in the sky,
and a high of whatever the fuck
it is that i feel when i
hear you talk at night
in the hushed tones, the sweet glance,
the way you look away.

i know what time it is there:
how cold is it?
can i curl beneath another blanket?
i know things i never thought
would matter about a place i never
wanted to be and there it is,
in the middle state between
a dream and a goal and i want
that reassurance, that conversion
of the ephemeral to the concrete.
i ache down to my feet,
my boots crusted with snow.
when will they slick themselves with rain?
and when they do, can they
return to snow again?

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pulling teeth

17.12.2016

flash those pearly whites.
light catching on
lies, tongue flippant over
long vowels and sighs.
that time you said we were
something, shy-eyed against
the odds.
but dawn came
and your smile, now, it is
different, this distance;
you are the icy heart of Pluto’s
broken pressure
from my missives.
i watch you face away, mocking ignorance;
and i laugh and small talk with
your text-tones, pure silence.

i look sick–
pounds dropping,
a dripping faucet from my hips,
my eyes. my breasts, thin.
you poke fun inside
my rib cage to leave me heart-stricken,
and chapped skin around my lips
keeps pulling up in pretend.

capillaries burst and fix into
bruises, nail scratches,
hands grasping and losing purchase;
there is so little left to hold.
the bridgework falls apart in
the mold, your grin contagious
and profoundly plaguing.

i can only bend back so far,
legs open, no pain to numb the
knowledge of the drugs you’re roped in,
you set the tone, the pace, the bones
of relationship tropes and blood stains
read like coffee grounds in small doses.
pump your brakes, poised with
easy access to the display case.
we’re closing up shop now, out of stock;
gone are your visceral devices,
trying to save face calling
corporate competition for fuck dates
and pricing.

tell me why it is
that talking to you is like pulling teeth?
yellow skeleton slice, smirk pulled
aside and nothing underneath.
dentist chair, armrests squeezed bare of
stuffing now neatly piled beside the floor.
tools spot abscesses and reek, mirrors
dance along your sallow cheeks, and i
find nothing to restore.

haiku 1

12.09.2016

i am nothing but
a segregate sense of self
and a bunch of bones.

termed

10.09.2016

the supervisor has come to
bind the eyes, gag this tongue
that tries to scissor snake in two,
hide the hands holding the knife.

red tape so thick it is new
plush carpeting, tailor-made
for my arrival. dress up and
look sharp, a killer smile.

oh, this paperwork. it never
ends, swift doubling back, eating the
tail of its fossil predecessors,
an orbit of copy letter disposables.

the department of human artifice
(resources have nothing to do with it)
sit in the back. take notes
on a cold mahogany coffin-table.

the guillotine lays flat and white,
ready to charge forward to
the instruments, lined up
to lop the limping bit right off.

a clean slice. a small gasp.
this is no cease-fire, this new void.
trying to achieve vocational satiety
with soggy tissues and a wastebasket.

on meditation

9.09.2016

tendons tense. relax
into to place,
(breathe in)
capillaries fizzing
adrenaline veins.

crouch to be disjointed,
head wilting slow;
(breathe out)
a small dizzy spell
and coppery taste.

breathe the fuck in.
breathe the fuck out.
you can calm down.
(i doubt, i doubt.)

be still

8.09.2016

be still. night sky
slow, soft, sure in its ink dark,
stars winking out to swallow me
whole.

the tall grasses
sway in wind movement nonexistent,
moaning roar from water-cars
crashing.

the corpse flower
wafts pungent in the silky air,
catching my nose, my mouth, like
vomit.

and you are there.
black hole eyes staring
endless, palms outstretched.

disappear.

Stitches

7.09.2016

i suppose i must be burlap
if you are wool.
we play at being friends,
we rent our sentiments.
symbiotic tug-of-war.

sometimes you drain
like potatoes in a can.
thick-spun slime melting off
slowly, then all at once;
you don’t keep well.

the world smiles gorgeous
but not for this one,
this one right here
that stabs slivers of glass
into the backs of eyes.

and those hooks! they claw,
they tear scar tissue
anew, and i don’t scream;
you pass over me in shadow.
it is just this again.

i will endure it, endless,
forever cosmos wrapping,
twisting to pull me
into your black mouth.
awaiting the kill.

lost and found

6.09.2016

you send the beacon out.
I sit in the dark, watch the
blooming, bloody red light sizzle into nothing,
and still nothing comes. no matter, you say,
you know the way. you make your maps and
i listen to you, whether I mean to or not.
you go the wrong route, and i follow, I
can’t find the words and my eyes hurt, the ragged breathing,
My mouth

 

yawns wide, canyon-big,
but i can’t tell you
what I think; you don’t want to hear it now.
we should be heading home. we need to backtrack;
back crack from exhaustion, i am the chattle
carrying your precious cargo along a ridge.
rocks snap quick across the edge, skitter into dark oblivion,
and what if I fall in?
i step lightly. I stomp my feet.

It is ridiculous to me that people still ask one another, “Oh, you read?” with an intonation as if they are asking one another if they know the most intricate rules of croquet. The question shouldn’t even have to be asked. Everyone who is able to read should be reading. Either that, or everyone should go around asking questions like “Oh, you like to eat?” or “Ah, I see you enjoy breathing!”.

above: an idiot

Today on my Etsy I premiered my next candle, since the Lon Lon Milk ended up as such a success. It’s Chateau Romani! It’s a champagne-scented soy wax candle that looks like the real thing from the Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask! Check it out:

chateau1

I’m actually fairly proud of it, and I hope it gets some publicity! If you know anyone who likes Zelda, pass the word on for me! :]

DISTRO NEWS

I’m looking for more contributions to our little zine distro! If anyone reads this who loves zines, makes zines, or knows of someone who makes them, please contact me at paperdollcircusdistro[AT]gmail.com! I’d love to work with you! I’m especially looking for any poets interested in collaborating on a poetry/prose mini zine with me. It’s something I’ve had on my mind for a long time and I want to put it into action! I have two ideas.

1. A general collaboration zine. You send me poems, I’ll compile them, and we put it to print! Yeah, there’s some legalese about you releasing your work for print, but it’s all in the name of getting it out there! I have some poems I want to print but it’s just not enough to make a zine’s worth on my own :[

2. A stream of consciousness-type zine. People send me in WORDS. Not poems, just phrases, like a line or two of prose. I compile it into one long flowing zine that will span 8-16 pages. I think this has the potential to be really really neat.

So there you have it. Anyone interested, contact me!